


Something Like Love

by iezzern



Category: Throne of Glass Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Coming of Age, Dirty Talk, Feminization, First Time, Loss of Virginity, M/M, smut in chapter 2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-05
Updated: 2020-09-05
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:56:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26303797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iezzern/pseuds/iezzern
Summary: At the very adult age of nine, Dorian considered himself poised and clever.He was mature and proper, able to look at things with an objective view and did not let his emotions get the better of him.That was until he’d met Prince Aedion Ashryver.(Smut doesn't start before Dorian is 17)
Relationships: Aedion Ashryver/Dorian Havilliard
Comments: 4
Kudos: 60





	1. Year 9-12

**Author's Note:**

> I noticed there was a drought of Aedion/Dorian smut fanfiction, so I decided to change that slightly. But, obviously, I couldn't help myself and added tons of plot and "growing up" Enjoy!

Dorian always told himself he was a sensible child.

At the very adult age of nine, Dorian considered himself poised and clever; far above the expertise of other nine-year-olds. He was mature and proper, able to look at things with an objective view and did not let his emotions get the better of him. That was until he’d met Prince Aedion Ashryver.

The Prince was an infuriating piece of work, teasing and taunting at every turn, as if he’d never learned proper manners. He was thirteen, the same age as Chaol, and that was even more infuriating. Mainly due to the fact that Aedion liked to lord his age over Dorian like Dorian was less proper because of his young age.

The worst part of it was the fact that Dorian never could think straight when Aedion teased him. He’d have a sarcastic reply on his tongue and then his voice would die, a furious blush replacing it. Usually, Chaol would be around to throw an insult back, but when Dorian was on his own, he usually got treated to Aedion’s smug smirk.

Even with all of Aedion’s bad points, Dorian could never stop himself from anticipating every visit he would have. There was a certain feeling he got whenever the Prince was close by, a kind of rush through his head and a burning through his body.

It was what made it impossible to answer the arrogant prick.

“You lost your tongue, Princeling?” Aedion would laugh and Dorian would blush and stutter until Chaol came to rescue him. Aedion would throw a smile over his shoulder when he left, stirring something in Dorian’s chest.

And then there’s one month until Aedion is coming to Rifthold next and Dorian has set himself a goal to actually talk to him without stuttering, He’s paced his room for hours now, practicing comebacks and lines. He’d outgrown the embarrassment of talking to himself days ago.

Then the maid had opened the door, carefully, and told him that his father was preparing to go out on a campaign. Two weeks later the news had come. Terrasen had fallen to Adarlan forces. The King and Queen were dead, along with their young daughter Aelin. Dorian felt a short flash of pain at that. Even if she’d been borderline annoying, the young princess had taken a special place in his heart.

Instead of expressing this, though, he just asks “What about Aedion?”

The maid draws her lips in a thin line, and Dorian shrinks at her disapproval. “Lost on the front lines, they say,” she answers, short and clipped. Dorian blinks, wringing his hands. “Oh,” he says, voice weak. He doesn’t know why he suddenly feels so heavy. He quickly puts on a mask, knows that the maid will report to his father.

“Fetch me Chaol,” he says, “I want to go out riding”

Chaol doesn’t comment as they ride across the fields but puts his hand on Dorian’s shoulder when they come back from the stables. Dorian doesn’t understand why he feels so comforted by it; why he’s so upset.

Three years pass. Dorian grows up as much as he can.

He’s twelve when he witnesses his first execution. His mother had protested it loudly enough that Father had sent her away for the last few days. Dorian tries to not make up his thoughts about it; knows that his father will act if he shows any distaste. Dorian lowers his eyes as fast as he can, tries to show respect to the woman’s sobbing husband.

“Drag the filth away,” his father’s rough voice echoes through the hall. The man is dragged away, crying out for his wife. Dorian starts to forge a plan, doesn’t want to stand on the side and watch while is father commits cruelties.

“Is there anyone else who wants to bring matters to the king?” Chaol asks, and Dorian knows he’s the only one who can hear the strain in his voice. To present the King’s matters is a huge honour, of course, but Chaol sounds more like he doesn’t even want that honour.

The Captain of Adarlan’s main army steps forward, cloak dragging on the floor behind him. Callum Selrion, Dorian remembers after a few seconds, that’s his name. He’s greying, his body lagging with age. Father will replace him soon, Dorian knows.

“The raids up North have been more successful, my King,” the old man says, “And we have a few men to thank for it, I would like for them to get the acknowledgment”

Some of the Court people laugh and titter at that. In their opinion, lowly men of the army don’t deserve acknowledgment from the King himself. Why should the King bother with men who haven’t washed in days and will live the rest of their lives surrounded by stinking tents and horse-shit?

None of them have seen even a glimpse of war.

And yet they brag about its profits.

Dorian wants to tell the Guard to shut them up. Father needs to please them, however, and can’t shoot them down. Dorian opens his mouth before Father can even think of what to say.

“Of course, Captain Selrion,” he says, and almost cringes at how thin and plain _young_ his voice sounds compared to the men’s, “My father would _love_ to acknowledge the brave men who fight to keep us proud and safe”

The court grows silent and ashamed at Dorian’s words. Captain Selrion smiles, tipping his head in thanks. Dorian’s father rights himself in his throne, clearing his throat. “Bring forth the soldiers then,” he says, voice hard. Dorian’s blood runs cold. Father never gives in this easily and when he does, it's with an air of amusement. There’s something he’s not seeing. Something Father is holding over him. Dorian’s actions might just backfire on him.

The Captain flicks his hand and some soldiers step forward. Dorian’s breath stops in his throat. His hand tightens in the material of the cape it’s resting on. Father is looking at him, searching for a reaction. Dorian tries to stay passive.

He’s gotten taller, and bigger; his muscles grown larger. His hair is still a glowing golden, windswept down to his shoulders, stark against his winter-sun-darkened skin. His eyes scan over Dorian and his father with such intensity, such confidence. Dorian rakes his brain. Aedion is about sixteen now.

And now, with his slightly older body and mind, Dorian suddenly understands his previous reactions to Aedion. He squirms slightly, blush dusting his cheeks. Father snorts, leaning back in his throne. Dorian shifts and averts his eyes, trying to ignore Father.

Dorian’s eyes connect with Chaol and his friend arches an eyebrow, nodding towards Aedion. Dorian blushes even harder. It’s a relief that only Chaol knows him well enough to understand what his reaction means. He’s been around Dorian enough when he’s stuttered flatterings to pretty girls.

Aedion catches his eye again. He’s knelt down, bowing his head to Father, hair tumbling over his shoulder and catching shine from the light. Dorian wants to run his fingers through it.

The Court murmurs around them and Dorian just hopes it’s not about him and his embarrassing display. Father gives his acknowledgments and the soldiers accept them, Aedion a bit more forced than the others, Dorian notes. “Son, would you be so kind and show the soldiers to their chambers?” Father asks. Payback for making him give them acknowledgments.

Dorian gives him a curt nod, masking his anger, and rises from his throne. One of the young ladies leans over and whispers something to her friends behind her hand as he passes. Captain Selrion shakes his hand as he approaches. It makes Dorian beam with pride until he hears his father’s half-concealed laughter behind him.

Dorian lowers his head, tears burning in his eyes, and quickly walks out of the hall, the soldiers rising to follow him.

Halfway out the door, Chaol catches up with him, laying a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t let it affect you,” he murmurs, and Dorian takes what little comfort he can find in it. His hand, however, is knocked away by Aedion’s—as the soldier wraps his arm around Dorian’s shoulder. Chaol’s eyes immediately go cold.

“How’s life at court been treating you, Princeling?”

Aedion’s voice hits his eardrum hard and sends a ringing noise echoing through his head. Dorian jerks back, glaring. He begs the gods that Aedion hadn’t seen the tears. He never would’ve been able to live down the shame of it.

“Certainly better than those years in war camps has treated you,” he answers with a hiss. Aedion looks shocked for a small, euphoric moment and then he throws his head back and laughs. His friends follow. Dorian’s cheeks redden again.

“You’ve built quite the spine then, Princeling?” Aedion teases, arching an eyebrow at his friends and inviting them to tease. Dorian quickly shrugs him off, but his boot catches in Aedion’s cape and he, with as much grace as he can muster, stumbles backwards into Chaol’s chest.

Chaol’s hands immediately come out to steady him, but the damage is already done. Aedion and his friends are laughing and Dorian’s cheeks are flaring. Dorian turns on his heels and drags Chaol with him, steps as determined as he can get them. The bastards can find their rooms on their own.

Aedion calls out his name from behind, but Dorian can’t bring himself to turn around. Chaol’s hand slips to the small of his back, comforting. Dorian leans back into it, fisting his hands. It takes him three turns and two flights of stairs to finally calm down. His cheeks return to their normal colour and heat. The tremors stop going through his hands.

He breathes out.

And in.

And out

again.

“That,” Chaol comments, “was a disaster”

Dorian breathes a laugh but doesn’t comment on it further. He leans heavily against the wall, running a hand through his hair.

Father is going to be furious with him, but he can’t bring himself to actually care. It wasn’t only the complete and utter humiliation at embarrassing himself in front of the Terrasen prince, it was the fact that it _was_ the Terrasen prince. Dorian knew, deep down, that his thundering heart wasn’t only due to the embarrassment, either, but he was willing to keep that knowledge to the utter bottom as long as it was required.

Chaol quirks an eyebrow but stays mercifully silent. That stare, though, is enough to make Dorian squirm. “Shut up,” he hisses, without any true malice. “Didn’t say anything,” Chaol teases, a hint of a smile tugging at his mouth.

Dorian groans and readies himself to slide down along the wall and curl up into a ball on the floor. Chaol grabs him by the waist and pulls him up again. Dorian immediately slumps forward to rest his head on Chaol’s shoulder. Chaol stiffens for two seconds while he checks if anyone is there to see.

It’s only Dorian that is allowed to act like this towards Chaol. Anyone else gets turned away with either a snarl or mild distaste. Dorian cherishes the fact, even though he really shouldn’t.

“We can’t just leave them to their own devices,” Chaol sighs after a considerable amount of time. Dorian whines low in his throat. “I know,” Chaol answers, a hand coming up to stroke through Dorian’s windswept curls, “But you have to”

Only Chaol.

With a determined huff, Dorian shoves himself off his friend and starts a confident walk down the hallway. “Good luck,” Chaol calls out from behind him.

The gods know he’ll need it.


	2. Year 17

Dorian, at the tender age of seventeen, now looks back on the memory with distaste and reddened cheeks still. It had been a nightmare to go back to the men and ask them to follow them to their rooms. He’d heard giggles from behind is back the entire way.

Every time Aedion or his friends had run into Dorian after, they’d either feigned a fall or purposely tripped the Prince into various bushes. Dorian had tried to act above it and turn his head, but it was quite difficult while sprawled over the concrete with a rose sticking out of his hair.

In that particular instance, Aedion had actually helped him up before running his fingers through Dorian’s hair to fetch the rose. Dorian had tried to ignore the snickers as he blushed, stuttered and stumbled his way through a thanks. It was the day he vowed to practice talking more smoothly and stop acting like a blushing maid every time Aedion spoke to him.

Now he thinks he’s finally managed it. It only took him five years. Five years of Aedion beefing up even more, of the Terrasen sun upon his skin and hair and his voice dropping a few octaves. It does things to Dorian’s body that has him excusing himself from almost all evening parties and then tangling himself in his sheets, sweat and…other fluids.

At least he manages to speak without skin burning and his words stopping every other sentence. Not that he speaks to the General much, though, because he keeps ladies on each his arms at all parties and hides behind Chaol whenever he can.

Aedion is surely laughing at him for it behind his back because Dorian _knows_ he isn’t being subtle. At all. But Aedion responds to Dorian in like, because he always has an arm wrapped around one of his friends’ waists, or brushing his lips over their jaws.

All while keeping perfect eye-contact with Dorian. With said friend shaking with laughter.

Dorian likes to think of it as a push and pull game. Dorian likes to think he has at least _some_ advantage. Even if it is more like a predator and its prey. Even if Chaol informs him that Aedion as him cornered in about every aspect of their game.

What’s worse is that Aedion is extremely obvious in trying to get Dorian on his own. To do what, Dorian doesn’t know, and he’s not interested in finding out. Chaol’s arched eyebrow, when he tells him as such, informs Dorian that it’s a complete and utter lie. His head is constantly filled with, undoubtedly ridiculous, ideas of what Aedion would do to him if he actually succeeded to corner Dorian.

Which is why Dorian manages to sport a tragic blush when Aedion stumbles into his path when he’s on his way back to his own chambers. “Princeling!” he exclaims and throws an arm around Dorian’s shoulder, pulling him close. He seems drunk, but Dorian can’t smell any alcohol on him at all.

Aedion tugs him close, hot breath brushing over Dorian’s cheek, and squeezes his shoulder tightly. “Where’ve you been? Haven’t gotten a chance to talk to you”

A half-concealed jab, Dorian knows, but can’t muster enough attention to retort in kind. “Busy days,” he stutters, twisting his head away so he doesn’t have to stare into Aedion’s searching eyes. Aedion performs a silent protest by moving his hand from Dorian’s shoulder to his waist and forces him to stay close.

“You’re real sweet when you blush, did you know?” Aedion murmurs, rubbing his thumb over Dorian’s hipbone. Dorian swallows, hands clenching and unclenching. The air around them has shifted so fast; from awkwardness to a heavy tension. Dorian starts stuttering again. “W-Well I…You shouldn’t—Not here”

It’s probably the most embarrassing thing he’s ever uttered. Aedion smiles affectionately, his usual sarcasm absent, and it makes Dorian’s cheeks burn. He licks his lips. Aedion’s eyes snap to follow the movement.

Dorian doesn’t know when Aedion’s intentions changed, or when he decided that Dorian finally was approachable. _Fuckable_ , a cruel voice in his head supplies, and Dorian shakes it out quickly. With all his bad qualities, Aedion still wouldn’t do something like that. Think of Dorian like that. Aedion starts leaning in, mouth parting slightly and Dorian can’t help but gasp a little, breath stuck in his throat.

“Aedion!” Someone calls from behind them and Dorian jumps out of said man’s hold. A soldier from the Bane is coming down the hallway, hand raised in acknowledgment. Aedion raises the shrugged-off hand in kind. His other hand goes out to grab around Dorian’s wrist—closing out the option for escape.

Dorian breathes harshly out through his nose, trying to gain Aedion’s attention. The male doesn’t care and, no matter how much Dorian subtly tugs, won’t let go. “Kyllian,” he greets silently, fingers caressing against Dorian’s pulse point.

Kyllian’s eyes flicker down to the hold with mirth. When they go up to Dorian’s face, they’re halfway mocking, and Dorian feels flames under his skin. He uses his free hand to brush stray hairs behind his ear. “Finally got your princess on his own, then?” Kyllian teases and Dorian’s mouth immediately opens to insult in retaliation.

Instead, a high-pitched, incredulous “ _Princess_?” comes out. Aedion turns to smirk at him just as Kyllian bursts into laughter. Dorian has never wanted to punch a person more. He would have, if it wasn’t for Aedion squeezing his fingers down on his wrist.

Dorian hasn’t done so much exploring on himself. It’s hard to do when your door could be run down by a crying little brother or an angry father at any moment. He’s had a few moments to himself, true, but they were quick and hasty and had him cleaning up as fast as possible. So, therefore, he doesn’t know to prepare himself for the warmth and subtle pleasure that sparks up his arm at Aedion’s squeeze.

Neither the slight whimper that sticks to his throat. Aedion arches an eyebrow and glances down. The olive skin under Aedion’s fingers reddens in time with Dorian’s cheeks, and all the preparations Dorian had made for talking to Aedion again slips out of him and seeps between the tiles of the stoned floor. After his dignity, of course. “See?” Kyllian offers, “So delicate”

And now Dorian very nearly manages to punch the man.

Kyllian dodges with a jerk of his head, but the most damning factor is Aedion’s hands around Dorian’s waist, pulling him back and tight to Aedion’s broad chest. His broad chest that is warm and hard with muscle. Dorian swallows down his blush.

Aedion releases a heavy breath against Dorian’s ear. “Don’t be jealous, now,” he teases Kyllian, “We’ll just have a little bit of fun”

“Don’t I have any say in it?” Dorian quips with only a slight quiver in his voice. Aedion’s lips press a smirk against his ear. “None at all,” Kyllian laughs, rolling his eyes at Aedion.

It hits Dorian then that Kyllian knows Aedion would go after him—is actively teasing him about it. The rest of Aedion’s friends probably have been, too. Aedion has talked about him, about whatever _this_ is, with his friends. Which means Dorian isn’t a random one-time thing. And, _oh_ , if that doesn’t hit something in deep in Dorian’s stomach. Winds him up even more.

He takes a chance and leans backwards, sinking into Aedion’s warmth. His body fits so perfectly against Aedion’s and it feels wonderful. Aedion draws in a breath when he does, hand tightening around Dorian’s waist. “If you would excuse us,” he says breathily to Kyllian and starts tugging Dorian down the hall with him. Kyllian wolf-whistles and Aedion just growls in answer.

-:-

Aedion makes quick work of their trip. Down the hall; turn the corners; open the door; hurry him and Dorian through; slam the door shut and press Dorian up against it.

He holds Dorian’s hips tight, forcing them to press down on the thigh Aedion had placed between Dorian’s own. Dorian has never known another’s touch like this before. And Aedion is so impossibly intense, lips and teeth a constant against his cheek.

It’s so warm.

Aedion croons teasingly, letting his tongue lick a small stripe up Dorian’s cheek. Dorian’s entire body shudders, causing his painfully hard bulge to move against Aedion’s thigh.

Dorian mewls, hands shaking.

“There we go, princess,” Aedion moans, “Let me make you feel good”

Dorian gasps out hard breaths, nosing against Aedion’s ear. Aedion’s hands start wandering and Dorian chokes on a breath when knuckles brush against his bulge. Dorian can’t help himself and stumbles forward, sinking into Aedion’s strong form.

A hardness presses against his lower stomach, insistent. Notably larger than Dorian’s own. Again, he curses Aedion’s four _extremely important_ years on him. Dorian’s hips keep moving, hands grasping Aedion’s muscled arms.

Aedion stumbles a little with the weight and then wraps his hands around Dorian’s waist.

“Sorry,” Dorian stutters, “It’s the first time I’ve ever…ever really—”

Aedion stops him by sliding his hand down and squeezing Dorian’s behind. And if _that_ doesn’t make Dorian even harder. He buries his head in Aedion’s shoulder, breath coming out in small puffs. His hips jerk back and forth in a stuttering rhythm. Aedion’s hands continue on their way down, and when they rest just under the swell of Dorian’s ass, he braces himself and _lifts_.

Dorian’s mind is flying above the clouds in seconds, unaccustomed to having neither feet on the ground. Aedion takes a few steps and proceeds to throw Dorian onto his bed. Dorian bounces slightly on the mattress, landing on his stomach and his knees set hard down in the sheets.

And even though it shouldn’t, it awakens a burning feeling in Dorian’s stomach. A shiver runs up his spine. When he meets Aedion’s eyes over his shoulder he knows that Aedion sees it. His cheeks burn in embarrassment. So now Aedion fucking Ashryver knows that he gets off on being manhandled. Amazing.

“Undress yourself,” Aedion orders with a smirk, clearly enjoying the way Dorian squirms at his tone.

Dorian scrambles to obey, fingers tangling in the lace of his shirt. Aedion is doing the same, unabashedly enjoying Dorian’s scorching blush. When Aedion tugs his shirt over his head, without any sign of embarrassment, Dorian ends up staring.

Hard muscles; large pecs; defined lines.

Dorian’s suddenly so insecure, not knowing what to do with himself. Aedion’s body is so perfect; so damn arousing. Aedion seems to know it, too, smirking down at him with justified arrogance. He raises an eyebrow. After a few moments’ hesitation, Dorian follows Aedion’s lead—slipping his shirt off, too.

While Dorian folds his shirt to put it away, he can feel Aedion’s eyes roaming his upper body. Hungry. Wanting. “Lovely,” he breathes, causing Dorian’s blush to resurface with fierceness. He knows he’s not as defined as Aedion, some baby fat still clinging to his forms, but Aedion still seems to like it. A lot. It matters more to Dorian than he’d like to admit.

Aedion crawls onto the bed, knee-walking up to Dorian, who is kneeling himself. He reaches out a hand—trails it down Dorian’s chest—and grins when his fingers brushing over Dorian’s nipple makes the younger boy gasp. “Yeah?” he says, more rhetorical than not and leans in to let his tongue follow his fingers’ movement.

Dorian bites his lip until it burns, fingers grasping at his own breeches. His blush spreads quickly down his chest. Damn Aedion and his damned confidence. Confidence Dorian hasn’t even discovered yet.

Dorian finally gets his breeches open and shoves them down roughly. Cursing the entire way. It seems to amuse Aedion. He takes hold of Dorian’s waist—draws them chest to chest, smirks with golden hair falling down by the sides. Dorian reaches out to run his fingers through it. Aedion purrs with the movement. Dorian arches an eyebrow and tugs at the strands. A brilliant idea, by the way Aedion growls and forces Dorian deep into the sheets.

“Don’t get too arrogant now, princess,” he quips, a hand going down to tease at Dorian’s exposed cock. Dorian makes a sound in the back of his throat, eyes never straying from Aedion’s. Neither that over-confident smirk. Aedion goes back up on his knees and makes Dorian stay down in the sheets with only an arched eyebrow.

He leans over to the bedside table. Fishes out a bottle with a purple tinge. Dorian has a similar one in his own chambers. His cheeks pinken at the memories it brings forth. Of those nights spent alone with only imaginations and fantasies. Mainly of Aedion.

When Aedion returns to his position over Dorian, he leans back. Looks his fill, eyes trailing from Dorian’s bright eyes to his stiff cock. He bends down and gives it a slight kiss.

“Cute,” he comments.

Dorian throws a hand over his face, skin burning red. He hears the bottle being unstopped, slick dripping out onto fingers. He draws his legs up, plants his feet on the sheets and spreads them wide open, trying to make it easier for Aedion.

Aedion growls low in his throat, dry fingers trailing down Dorian’s thigh. The touch is scorching. He takes hold of the thigh and presses it up to Dorian’s chest, fingers clutching tight. Dorian’s chest stutters with breath; he still can’t believe this is happening—that he’s getting this. That he’s being allowed this.

Aedion’s slick fingers slide down between his cheeks, searching. Dorian gasps—hips bearing down and hands clutching at the sheets. “Goodness, you’re sensitive,” Aedion mutters, “Even for a virgin”

Dorian kicks out with his foot, not even coming close to Aedion. The older man chuckles. “Wasn’t criticism, princess.”

Dorian whines low in his throat, reaching out his hands to steady himself on the one Aedion has between his legs. “Please,” he says, stuttering a few times before getting it correct, “Be gentle”

“Wouldn’t treat you any other way, princess”

The first finger in hurts a little, and Dorian’s muscles clamp down. Aedion shushes him, smoothing his other hand over Dorian’s thigh. Dorian tries to take deep breaths, entire body quivering. He’s dreamt of this many times, but now that he has it, it feels unendingly overwhelming.

Aedion leans down—breathes heavily into his ear. He pushes the finger further in, while licking a stripe along the shell of Dorian’s ear. He finishes it with a slight kiss. Dorian finally regains some semblance of control over his breath.

He shifts one of his hands up to tug at Aedion’s strands, the other falling to the fae’s thigh. He braces himself there, letting the rest of his body relax. Pleasure starts to overtake the pain; small tendrils of it pulsing up his body. One finger quickly becomes two.

Dorian bites his lip; releases a shaky breath. Aedion smirks against his ear, digging his free fingers into Aedion’s hipbone. “There we go, princess”

Dorian is mortified to find that the nickname is turning him on now, breath hitching. His legs close around Aedion, pulling the other male tight. He pulls his thighs up and up, sliding against Aedion’s own, and finally they lock over the small of his back. He mirrors the action with his arms, slings them around Aedion’s shoulders and forces the male to meet his lips.

Aedion hasn’t ceased smirking.

Dorian can’t stop making noises, small whimpers and gasps against Aedion’s lips. His hips start moving again — tiny, aborted movements that force Aedion’s fingers deeper. Dorian licks his lips, tongue fleeting over Aedion’s own in the process. Aedion growls, fingers thrusting in roughly.

Dorian gasps out again and undulates his hips in rhythm with Aedion’s fingers. He begs Aedion for more. And harder. And deeper. Aedion keeps on smirking—and complies. Dorian cries out, eyes wet, as Aedion adds another finger.

The male finally— _finally_ —moves, hips driving against Dorian’s thigh. Dorian can feel his cock rubbing against his skin. “Please,” he gasps for the second time, “Please, fuck me”

Aedion hums against his cheek. “Quiet down, sweet,” he mutters, dragging his lips down to the column of Dorian’s neck, “Let me take care of you”

Dorian just nods with a whimper, throwing his arm back over his face. Aedion forces it down to the sheets again, unendingly smirking. “I want to see your face,” he says. Dorian protests with a whine, that Aedion seems pretty willing to ignore.

He withdraws from Dorian, kneeling over him. Dorian has to unhook his legs again—spread them wide around Aedion’s hips to give him space. Aedion’s smirk widens at the sight. “You look pretty like this, princess,” he says.

“Just get on with it”

Aedion chuckles, sliding one hand up Dorian’s thigh and holding it still. Dorian hadn’t even noticed he’d been quivering. He swallows. Throws his head back against the pillows. Breathes out.

Aedion takes hold of his cock—lines it up with Dorian’s entrance. His eyes flick briefly up to Dorian’s; a silent question. Dorian nods, fingers clutching at the sheets. Aedion squeezes his thigh and then thrusts in.

Dorian’s back arches and he clenches his teeth, face warming again. It’s everything he imagined and at the same time everything he didn’t imagine. It’s Aedion’s hardness inside of him; It’s his body clamping down; It’s Aedion leaning down to put their foreheads together.

“O-Oh,” Dorian mewls, breaths coming out in short, sharp breaths. He reaches down and grasps Aedion’s steady hip, grounding himself. He licks his lips and blinks his eyes a few times. Takes a deep breath. He rolls his hips experimentally, sighs at the subtle pleasure running up his body. Aedion groans when he feels Dorian’s breath over his ear, and it sends Dorian unravelling. His body twitches, hips hitching, and his eyes grow wet with tears.

He twists his hips, tries to urge Aedion to move. The feeling of Aedion’s cock driving deeper into him makes him gasp, thighs tensing. The male keeps still, eyes glowing with amusement. “Don’t take more than you can handle, sweet,” he murmurs. Dorian’s cheeks burn in mortification.

He must seem so inexperienced—so childish and _virginal_. Aedion is so obviously not, confidence and smugness rolling off him in waves. He’s done this before—probably seen Dorian’s reactions thousands of times. Probably doesn’t see it the same way Dorian does. Dorian turns his face away, embarrassed.

Aedion won’t let him, though. He cradles Dorian’s face in his hand and turns it back. Brushes their lips together. Dorian’s hips bare down on Aedion’s cock and he can feel how big he is; How he’s fitted inside so snugly; How his body is opening up for Aedion as he draws his hips backwards and thrusts them forward again.

“Fucking _perfect_ , princess,” Aedion groans, deep and guttural, “So fucking tight around my cock—So good for me”

“Y-Yeah,” Dorian stutters without even meaning to, “I’ll be good for you. _So good_.”

Aedion chuckles against his temple, yanking Dorian’s hips up and bending him nearly in half, knees pressed down up by his shoulders. He starts _moving_. Thrusts in and out, slow at first. Dorian can feel the slow drag of him, the rhythm the male creates.

He reaches out and wraps around Aedion again, nails digging into Aedion’s strong back. he tries to be as mindful as possible; careful not to be too rough. Aedion snorts. “Just mark me up, princess,” he says, “I don’t mind”

Dorian whines and complies, leaving red lines down Aedion’s muscled back. The male growls with it.

He tilts his hips, moving intently. Dorian makes a questioning sound, just as Aedion finds the spot he was searching for. Dorian gasps tenderly against Aedion’s ear, body open and aching and _sensitive_. His nerves light up, body on the edge of something Dorian can’t even explain. It’s more overwhelming than painful, Aedion’s body pressed to his; his hands squeezing tight over Dorian’s hips—unending pressure.

“ _There_ we go, princess,” Aedion murmurs and Dorian’s breath hitches, “You _really_ like that, huh? Being my little princess?”

Dorian can’t do anything but grit his teeth and draw lines down Aedion’s biceps. His legs jolt up, aching, and are stopped by Aedion’s arms blocking their way. Dorian whines.

“Oh, you do,” Aedion continues, fingers caressing the back of Dorian’s thighs, “Such a sweet princess, so easy for me”

Dorian yanks a little on his hair for that and then lets them fall down between them, fingers fleeting over Aedion’s strong stomach. Aedion’s hips start moving more forcefully, softness gone. Dorian lets out small, hiccupping “ah”s in rhythm with them. Aedion leans back up, dragging Dorian’s legs up with him and spreading them wide.

Dorian tightens at the sight of him. His cheeks are flushed red, sweat gleaming on his chest. The fae runs a hand through his mussed hair, messes it up even more. Then he places a hand on Dorian’s convulsing stomach. His fingers tease over Dorian’s skin, eyes entranced by the way the fingertips follow his trembling muscles.

“I haven’t even left any mark on you,” he says, dangerously quiet. Possessive. He leans down; Seals his lips over Dorian’s skin; Leaves a dark bruise in his wake; Growls deep in his chest when he sees it.

Dorian had heard how possessive fae males could get—how they stopped at nothing to prove who belonged to them. Hickeys and bites and scent. He’d never expected Aedion to end up like that for _him_.

“Mine,” Aedion growls—rubs his finger over the mark, as if reassuring himself that it’s there. Then he finds a new spot to attack. Dorian blushes furiously, tightness in his lower stomach. It’s not so much what Aedion’s doing that causing it, more the fact that Aedion’s even doing it at all.

Suddenly and quickly, Aedion is up by Dorian’s neck and biting onto it. There’s a rumbling in his chest, almost like a purr. It stirs something in him. Some need for Aedion to mark him up and claim him—to show everyone that Dorian was _his_. He buries his fingers in Aedion’s hair; pushes him closer. “More, give me more”

Aedion fully growls now, thrusts quickening. The male grabs onto the headboard, uses it as support to make his hips move harder. Dorian’s “ah”s dissolve into messy, nearly endless moans. His hands fall down into the sheets, clutches at them and releases them again. He turns his face into the pillow, sobs out.

Aedion nips teasingly at his ear, amused. Then he lets his face fall into the crease of Dorian’s neck and starts kissing and sucking at it. marking him even more. “Mine,” he growls, “You’re _mine,_ princess”

Dorian nods without really registering what Aedion had said, back arching. Aedion makes that possessive sound again, thrusts roughening, hitting hard against Dorian’s ass. He’s being crowded up by the headboard, shoved further and further up by Aedion’s hips.

Dorian’s entire body stutters; hips raising from the mattress; fingers clutching tight; breath hitching; insides tightening up. That slow-churning warmth in his stomach heightens, nearly unbearable. “I-I’m…,” he tries to get out, “Aedion…I’m—I…”

Aedion shushes him—grins. “Hold out a little bit longer, princess,” he says, “Be good for me”

Dorian nearly comes—would’ve if it wasn’t for Aedion’s hand suddenly gripping his cock tight. He whines, glaring at Aedion with wet eyes. “Didn’t I tell you to hold out?” Aedion says, both teasing and demanding at the same time, and clicks his tongue, “Such bad manners for such a sweet slut”

Dorian’s back arches, body relishing in the fantasy Aedion is painting. Aedion’s hips start stuttering, losing rhythm, as if he can’t control himself anymore. He breathes heavily against Dorian’s skin, nosing at his neck and scenting him. He says something in the ancient language, tone high and sweet —on the edge. Finally, a “lovely” slips past his lips. that’s what undoes Dorian; His body lighting up, muscles clamping, mouth opening in a silent moan. Bliss washes over him, comfortable warmth easing his body to release.

It’s all he ever imagined, nothing like he’d ever expected. His arms go around Aedion, clutching, as he finally finds the voice to cry out. A loud, drawn-out moan that echoes up the chamber. He hopes someone outside hears. Hopes they all get to know that Aedion has thoroughly claimed him now.

Aedion lets go of the headboard—strokes a hand over Dorian’s hair. His body is quivering slightly, his breath near hitching.

Dorian smirks. “Was I sweet for you?” he asks, breathlessly, “You’re making me feel _so good_.” Aedion growls, thrusting without rhythm and aim. “So big inside me, such a big fucking cock.” Aedion bites into his neck, drawing blood. “O-Oh, so sweet. Making me yours. Making me your little princess.” Aedion comes deep, spilling into him, with a heady groan.

His hands go to move Dorian’s body. Hips tilted; neck bared; thighs spread; hands crossed above his head. He growls, pleased, when he’s gotten his way. Dorian just obeys, too tired to protest. “ _Sweetheart,_ ” Aedion breathes, hands smoothing down Dorian’s sides, “Thank you”

Dorian sighs, lets his body sink into the sheets. Aedion pulls out, his seed seeping out after him. Dorian makes a face at the feeling, but his attention is quickly caught by Aedion dropping down beside him, one of his strong arms going around him. He tugs Dorian onto his chest—starts threading his fingers through Dorian’s hair.

“Hope I made it good for you, princess”

Dorian groans. “You need to stop calling me that”

Aedion doesn’t answer, but Dorian can feel the smugness rolling off him.

Dorian taps his fingers against Aedion’s shoulder. “Stay the night?” he asks, sounding far more vulnerable than he would like to. The arm curled around his shoulder tightens.

“Why would I ever leave, princess?”

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave kudos and a comment if you enjoyed! TY for reading!


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